by Sean J Leith
“Kayden, stop this!” Lira pleaded. “Vesper, Domika, Magnus do something!” she yelled. Vesper was pasted to the wall, and he shook his head. Domika did the same. Lira wished to calm her, but Kayden’s anger pushed her to continue. “Please Kayden, it isn’t worth it!” she cried.
Her words shook Kayden.
Not worth it. He wasn’t. He didn’t deserve anything.
Kayden looked back to Lira with eyes filled with sadness and fear. She closed her eyes, nodding. “Fine, I believe you.” She struck Callidan across the face again and again. Each one felt better and better like the past disappeared. Like she could forget it all.
His breathing was labored, eyes filled with tears. She stared right into his eyes. “You see? The last time we met, I was helpless. I was innocent.” She grabbed a tangled mass of the drake’s shoulder-length hair and ripped his head back. “And now—” She noticed his eyes drop. “Look at me.” Kayden moved his chin up, but his eyes still focused on the ground. “Look at me,” she growled. His eyes returned to hers. Her fierce voice turned eerily quiet. “Now, you are helpless, but not innocent. How does it feel?” She let his hair go.
Kayden stepped back. She shoved both blades slowly into Callidan’s neck, staring into his eyes as she did it in silence. He choked as blood poured from his mouth and throat. “Suffer,” she whispered. After his eyes turned lifeless, Kayden removed her blades and cleaned them on his clothing. She staggered backward and dropped to the floor, nose-to-knees with heavy breaths. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at Callidan’s mutilated body.
It was over. He was dead. Finally.
But it wasn’t over. So many still lived. So many could come for her. And she was alone.
Magnus released Lira, and she ran to embrace Kayden on the ground. “I’m sorry,” Lira squeaked. She didn’t do anything wrong.
Magnus, still unaffected, sat beside her. Domika and Vesper were still frozen against the wall. They looked at each other, then approached with caution.
“My lady, are you okay?” Vesper inquired, outstretching his hand carefully.
She never would be. “No,” Kayden whispered. “I’m not.”
Lira didn’t let go. Kayden pulled away, but she held on tight. In a visceral reaction, she returned the embrace with all her might, squeezing as hard as she could.
“I’m not the Grim, I’m not, I’m not—” Kayden whispered. “I’m sorry.” She repeated it over and over. “She brought the past back. Her persona. The Shadow of Death. “I don’t think he knew why they were taken.”
“I don’t think he was going to talk, even without doing that.” Domika said carefully. “Don’t worry Kayden, he—” she paused, seeming unsure if she would help or hurt. “He deserved it.”
Her eyes shot to Domika. They always argued. Hated each other. But when she said this—it had understanding behind it.
Maybe she wasn’t so bad.
Didn’t trust her still.
“How could you three just stand there, letting her do it alone?” Lira snapped at the others. “How could you just watch?”
“Lira, stop,” Domika whispered. “Don’t you see she’s upset? She did what she needed to do. We don’t know what she’s been through.”
I did. She needed to kill him. She needed to make him suffer. Not for her, but for so many others.
Kayden’s breathing quickened again. Her eyes were wide, not leaving Callidan’s bloody corpse. Blood she spilled.
“Kayden,” Lira said. Kayden’s eyes glanced over to hers. “It’s okay.” It surprised her that Lira stayed resilient through the display. “He’s hurt a lot of people. He deserved worse. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Kayden’s gaze didn’t change or move. “Do you understand?” Lira asked.
Kayden nodded quickly. She sniffled and smiled. “Yes.”
Domika knelt down beside Kayden. “Hey,” she said, bringing Kayden’s attention to her. “It hurts,” Domika nodded. “But we’re in this together.” She ended with a smile.
Kayden gave them a mystified look. Why would they lie?
I’m in this alone.
She gave a nod, which was a lie. She rose as Lira released her embrace. Kayden’s breath slowed and her eyes narrowed, as per usual. She let out a large sigh and stared blankly at the mutilated body, and spit on it. Enjoy hell. Slowly, she turned and relaxed her shoulders. “I think we can continue now. I can take time after we’re done. We have a job to do. We should probably head to the manor quickly. Luckily, this place is sound proof so our yelling didn’t affect anything.”
“What about those who were imprisoned here?” Lira asked. “We have to get them out!”
She pointed toward the other prisons she spotted while scouting. “Lira, Mags, you stay behind and get the prisoners out of here through the sewers. Dom, Vesper, you come with me. We have a noble to scare. Nothing violent, I promise.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Lira asked, lightly grasping Kayden’s arm. “I’m worried.”
Kayden gently shook Lira off of her. “I’m going to be okay. I’m not alone,” she smiled sweetly. “I promise, I’m feeling better.” Complete lie. Absolute bold-faced lie. Her past came back. She spent years in hell. She ran and was free for one. Now the past was back to claim her forever. Where there was Callidan, there were so many more. There was only one way out.
Kayden turned to walk toward the stairwell. “Don’t worry Lira. We’ll rendezvous back at the inn.”
Once Lira said they were friends.
They weren’t.
What friend would make their final parting words a lie?
Chapter Twenty-three
Down the Neck of Fools
Saul Bromaggus
The Broken came to the mighty tribal city of Sisla, and they feared what they would find within. The only other city of the Seven they experienced was Rhoba, and that was reason enough to be suspicious. The others grew restless; tensions rose between a few members of the group.
It didn’t help that every night since Saul was imprisoned, his dream of Gadora became a nightmare. Every night he appeared atop the tower, and a storm of darkness struck him with lightning until he awoke from agony. But he pressed south. Searching.
Sisla was modestly built, but a vast city of many things: races of Hydris to Human to Blazik, beliefs in powers like voodoo and blood magic, and all sorts of foods and animals Saul never saw before. There were many witch doctors in booths and huts who wore the skins of animals upon their heads, from boars, to bears, to sabertooth tigers and even a Ravager’s skull.
The people wore clothes made of beautifully colored cloth, metal rings, and feathers. The various traders Saul conversed with said many of their trades were made with the cities of Alin and Shi’doba, and the Torch. Saul hadn’t known that trade occurred over the Fissure, let alone out of the Torch of Lathyria in general. Stuck-up fools lived high atop the Torch’s peninsula. However, the witch doctors that could actually speak the common tongue of Renalia said they were surprisingly helpful—at least if you had something they wanted. Saul didn’t believe it for a second, but he saw more shocking things prior, such as the treachery in Rhoba.
Street musicians played on every corner, serenading passer-bys with all sorts of drums and percussion instruments, singing in high, vibrato tones and shrill shrieks to their gods. Saul didn’t care for the act of song, but the people of Sisla believed that their songs brought them blessings. Gadora’s singers were strong and orotund, Yggranda’s were deep and hoarse, while Urikar’s were shrill and ear-splitting, and Kannakash’s were guttural. Saul respected those who paid homage to their deities, whether it be through battle, prayer, salute, or song.
Saul enjoyed the flourish of Sisla, but the merchants refused to let them stay. If they were to sleep, it was only allowed outside city walls. The townspeople knew of the curse of Rhoba, and now Saul understood why the small villages he visited closed their doors at first sight.
His mind turned to the crimson flow that now stained Rhoba’s gr
ound, knowing he did what was right. It needed to be done. They were cowards who would kill the innocent for their own useless gain. He avoided the shops of the Hydris; he didn’t trust them. They’re my enemy, they might slay me where I stand, or I, them.
They stayed in town during the day, inquiring at inns and to house builders, but they all said the same thing: “You are welcome to view our town, but you are not welcome to stay here.” Saul attempted to convince them that they were not of Rhoba, but it was for naught.
* * *
They soon pressed south across the plains. When they reached Graline, they found it quite different from Sisla. It was a strong city, built with a vast stone wall surrounding the perimeter, with many engravings of names and warriors. There was a massive set of bronze statues at the center of town, towering over the city itself: two warriors, one in plate and the other leather, swinging blade and axe at one another. Saul saw many walking by and saluting it by crossing their arms in an X and bowing.
As he traversed the city, he noticed the people to be quite secular. The roads were barren of temples, markings of deities, as well, there were no witch doctors, priests, or even magicians. They were farmers and soldiers, trusting in a blade rather than a spell. Saul respected their ways and felt nostalgic. He enjoyed the feeling of the city, but despite his opinion and the others, the Gralinians respectfully turned Saul and the other Broken away, seeing them as very non-secular individuals. Especially with our markings—that much is certain.
The Broken respected their choice in turn. Being unwelcome in a city was not a life they wanted. Conquering was not an option, as the city was hundreds or thousands strong, and they were but twenty. The city had many races: Humans, Blaziks, Terrans, and even some traitorous Hydris. Saul did not know how these other races came to be in the Neck. He reasoned they were exiled from Renalia, the Plateau, or the Torch. Each city did not know much about the others, aside from their specialties and trades.
Graline was an expert in physical combat, but also farming. They were skilled in domesticating different varieties of corn, fruits, and other vegetables. Their seeds brought plentiful harvests, and other cities paid well for them. While Saul and the others did not find a home there, they did learn something very interesting regarding the state of the Serpent’s Plateau: there was a civil war across their lands. The King wished to make peace with the Vale, while the Stormwardens, they were called, wished to annihilate them.
Both were foolish in their plights. The Broken discussed the war endlessly since, however. Whenever they rested by campfire, the topic returned. “Saul, what do you think we should do?” Drof asked, rubbing the side of his thin jaw. “The others are unsettled. None have had contact with the Hydris before, aside from the few at the fissure and the sparse villages.”
“As with me. But it could be a trap,” Saul said bluntly. “What would you expect me to do? Assist them?” Saul shook his head. “We have been raised to believe that all Hydris hate us. What if the citizens of Graline were dishonest? What if the Plateau is not at war, and they kill us on sight?” It had been drilled into Saul’s head for years: the fear that the Hydris would kill them no matter what. “But it might be our only option if the others of the Neck reject us. Each city is highly isolated.”
“What if we aid the capital?” a husky female voice asked from behind. The light of the campfire accentuated Fae Joran’s powerful stature. Long, black dreadlocks spilled down her back like a thousand rivers, fitting her blue markings of a protector: the waves of Urikar, the four-pointed rounded star of the Hydris, and the blade of victory. She was a rough Broken but spoke her mind and hid nothing. She plopped on the ground beside Drof.
“But what if something goes wrong? We could just get caught in the middle,” Drof said. His concerns were not misplaced. Each Broken came from the Vale, and each were exiled for his or her own reason. Drof was dubbed a coward, as he fled from orders of the Dragon. Saul fled execution; they were not so different.
Saul warned them all that betrayal would send them to the same fate as Rhoba. Drof had been reliable thus far. “He is correct. We may be caught between two armies,” Saul began. “A war over the Broken. It is difficult to fathom. The rulers and commonfolk supposedly support uniting, while the others reject us and wish to conquer the Vale and slaughter our people.” Damn fools. He knew they would walk to their death. The Broken society was strong, filled with well-trained warriors, and were led by the last Dragon of Kathynta, who had been alive since before the last true war raged two hundred years prior.
“If we’re successful, we’ll get respect. Maybe we can return to our land. Did you not mention wanting to return for vengeance?” Fae said. “Have you forgotten?”
Her words were strong, and she listened to Saul’s ramblings. “I have not forgotten.” While he wished for Vengeance, his journey had shaped his mind in ways he did not expect. That, and he had not found means for vengeance aside from foolish courage.
“I hear they worship the Glories as well. One of the witches in Sisla informed me.” Fae pointed to Saul’s crashing winds on his left shoulder.
Saul thought of the dagger that pierced it, leaving no scar after his marks lit up. Remember your father’s words, Gadora said to him. It was just a dream, but of a place he never saw. His father’s words didn’t leave him, to protect the weak, rather than rule them. The Hydris aren’t weak, are they? “For now we move to the jungles of Elaston and potentially farther to Shi’doba. Then we will decide our path,” Saul said.
They could not confirm any rumors or trust anyone with referrals, as each of them fell for the trick in Rhoba. Damn that Fissure guard, lying cur. Like the night he left the Vale, he couldn’t run to his death without proper thought.
Fae let out a scoffed at his words, “Sitting on the decision? I think we know who the coward is here.” Saul saved their lives, and yet she was rough as a mountainside.
Saul retorted with a sharp tongue. “Speak to me in such a way once more, and I shall put you back in Rhoba’s prison. Do not forget how you escaped.” Saul had no time for challenges. “We may discover more information the further we travel. Time is a luxury, and we have no room to trust the word of anyone in the Neck. These are rumors about a war we know nothing about. We must tread lightly. Do you understand?” It surprised Saul to hear those ideals emerging from his own lips. Waiting. Patience.
Her prominent brow furrowed but surrendered. “I suppose. Just know that if we find more evidence of it being truth and you back away, I’ll challenge you myself,” she said, storming off. Not uncommon for an underling to challenge a leader.
“Noted,” Saul called. He looked to Drof, who gave him a raised brow. A long silence followed, accompanied only by the songs of crickets and the crackles of flame, decorated by the smell of campfire’s smoke and ash.
Fae turned to look at him and winced. “Look around you. You command and demand, but we don’t want to sit around and find a home. We want to find a purpose.” With a dark frown, she said, “Do you not? Don’t act all high and mighty because you got us out of that place. You got yourself out and did what anyone would do. You haven’t earned any respect because you broke a few chains.” She walked to another campfire and sat down, crossing her arms.
Saul drew out his mouth in displeasure. “Why must she be so insistent? She’s running in like a reckless fool,” he said to Drof. He realized that was exactly what he would have done a season ago. Ever since his exile and Rhoba, he had been wary of running into battle—or any situation, for that matter—for the wrong reasons.
“Her markings, Saul. She was born to protect them. Didn’t you notice?” Drof replied.
He noticed but paid it no attention. He thought the Broken of Rhoba disregarded fate now—but not all had. Fate drove the desires of many of his people, including himself. He still was not entirely sure of what to believe but followed his gut feeling. It told him to be cautious. “I suppose I hadn’t. It seems we haven’t all given up on fate.”
Her marks showed victory.
But the mark of victory failed before.
He clenched his fists, remembering the day his father died. It represented how Obelreyon ruled. Control. We have been controlled by Dragons for too long. Centuries, millennia, far too long. Yet so many feel it is right to be ruled by them. But why?
“Have you? You bear two marks—the Dragon, and the mark of All.” Drof said, pointing to both of Saul’s arms.
Saul cringed at his words, but Drof was right. He looked to some of the other Broken, seeing other marks of the Hydris. One had the red of a slayer, one had the yellow of the mediator. He did not know his true fate. “I choose my own fate. As for the Hydrian capital of Serpentarius, I will think on it. Despite what you believe, they are still our enemy.” He dismissed Drof, who stared into the fire with his golden eyes.
There may have been truth to the civil war, but if the rulers wished for unification, why not attempt to bring it to them? The Hydrian King was seeking peace with the Vale. But Saul knew Obelreyon wouldn’t accept it. It was a fool’s errand to make peace with the Dragon.
They were all rumors still, and they had little information to go on. Saul wanted to know why the King wished for unity and felt they would only know by entering the Plateau.
He looked to his left arm, seeing the sharp-winged mark of the Dragon. In his dream, Gadora told him theories of fate.
Gorum himself abandoned his. Saul did not know if he had to keep to his, but deep down he wanted to. He had to bring death upon the enslaver. Looking around the small camp, that was an eternity away. The Vale was filled with thousands of Broken. They were all too afraid to dethrone the tyrant.
Saul was now hundreds of miles from the Vale, halfway across the continent. He felt lost, wandering aimlessly for a purpose. He wanted revenge for his father’s death, but he had no true means to accomplish his goal. He felt a pull to the Plateau but refused to answer it thus far.